Tidings of Comfort and Joy
by lilyleia78
Summary: Wilson has to rescue House. Again. And he's getting tired of playing second fiddle. “What would it take for me to be enough?” Slash.


Wilson was building a resistance to House's bullshit. A careful regime of ignoring House's whining and pretending not to notice all of the hints he was currently dropping about needing his right thigh massaged were all part of the plan to eventually be able to say 'no' to House and mean it.

Tonight would not be that night, but Wilson was determined to hold out for as long as possible - even in the face of how absurdly sexy House looked slouched down next to him on the couch wearing nothing but a faded black T-shirt and menorah covered boxers. He lasted until House said, "I rub your body whenever iyou/i ask nicely."

Wilson laughed, but the sound was bitterer than he'd expected. He and House's on-again/off-again love affair had been decidedly more off-again ever since House had started his bizarre courtship of one Lisa Cuddy. And since said bizarre courtship was the reason House was in need of a massage in the first place, Wilson was less than inclined to oblige his wayward lover. But House had looked over sharply at the sound of Wilson's harsh laughter, and Wilson didn't feel like answering any questions, so he rolled his eyes and waved his hand from House's legs to himself. "Come on then."

House tipped his head and looked askance at his companion, a small victorious smile replacing the suspicion of a few seconds before and swiveled in place so that he was stretched across the couch, knees draped across Wilson's lap. Wilson looked pointedly from hairy knees to injured thigh and waved again, motioning House closer.

With a put-upon sigh, House scooted down until his boxer clad butt was pressed warm and snug against the outside of Wilson's left thigh, positioning his own sore thigh directly over Wilson's crotch. Wilson immediately began kneading the tender spot, careful to avoid both the burgeoning bruises and the old scar tissue.

"Wanna tell me about it?" Wilson asked. He knew the answer to that one of course; no, House didn't want to talk about it. But sometimes his friend surprised him, and Wilson was in favor of encouraging positive behavior.

"I couldn't sleep; needed someone to read me a bedtime story."

Wilson shook his head in disbelief. "And it was easier to take your bike out into the subzero weather and icy roads so that you could annoy Cuddy than to hobble the five feet to my bedroom to annoy me?"

"I'm giving up annoying you for Lent."

"Lent comes before Easter, not Christmas."

"How do you know? You're Jewish."

"And you're an ass."

"Maybe I was trying to be nice by not waking you," House ventured with an eyeroll. "Nag, nag. That's the last time I do something for you."

"Let's see, your efforts to be nice to me led to a phone call from Cuddy at three in the morning informing me that you broke her window and managed to fall and injure your bad leg in the process. Thus, I'm forced to follow you into the subzero temperature and icy roads so that I can collect you from Lucas's tender embrace. Thank you very much. Don't do me any more favors. Please."

House frowned. "I'm confused. Are you jealous that I went to Cuddy or jealous about Lucas holding me – which, by the way, was to prevent me from slipping back to the ground and not a lustful embrace at all, unfortunately."

"He should have let you fall again. Maybe you would have hit your head and had some sense knocked into you," Wilson said, but House didn't rise to the bait. "I'm not jealous." House scoffed; and, hating himself for it, Wilson amended, "Alright, maybe I'm a little jealous."

Wilson massaged in silence, the image of pulling up to Cuddy's house still fresh in his mind. The sight of Lucas's arm slung around House's waist, left hand gripped tightly on House's left hip, the other wrapped around House's right wrist made hatred burn hot in his belly. It burned itself out quickly, leaving him feeling colder than before, and suddenly in the exact right mood for questions.

"What would it take for me to be enough?" Wilson asked quietly, looking down at his hands, no longer massaging but stroking gently up and down the pale skin, each upstroke pushing House's boxers up and revealing more skin to explore.

"Enough what?" House's voice was drowsy, seeming to come from a thousand miles away, and Wilson saw that his eyes were closed when he chanced a look down the couch at him.

"Enough for you to have woken up with the urge to walk the five feet to my bedroom instead of across town to throw pebbles at Cuddy's window."

"Taub's very biggest set of saline happiness makers," House answered promptly.

Wilson said nothing, and House opened his eyes to study him, a frown of concentration furrowing his brow. Wilson met his gaze nervously, willing House to make a sarcastic remark and make things right between them, willing House to be brave and dig deeper.

House looked away and his voice was gruff when he answered, "You were always enough."

Wilson's hands stilled and his mouth dropped open in shock. "But… Then…" he trailed off helplessly. "Why?"

House slowly turned back to meet Wilson's questioning stare. Then carefully, as if choosing the exact right words were difficult, said "The wives, the girlfriends, the random nurses. I didn't think you wanted to be enough."

Wilson gritted his teeth. "Yes, I can see how the long line of women I've been courting the past year and a half could confuse you," he ground out.

"You've been trying to set me up with Cuddy," House snapped back.

Wilson couldn't deny that, not with House lying so vulnerable in his lap, anger and pain obvious in the twist of his features. "I thought it would make you happy," Wilson said. House's features smoothed out in understanding. "But when I saw… She hurt you. Nobody is allowed to hurt my friend." Wilson paused. "Unless you really, really deserve it." He paused again. "And they clear it with me first."

House smiled, wide and sincere and Wilson could feel a similar one spread across his own face. "So this life of celibacy you've been leading, that's been for my benefit?" House asked, and he sounded condescending but Wilson could hear the hope in his voice.

"I thought actions might speak louder than words," Wilson said.

"Bullshit, you were a coward. Too afraid to just ask for what you wanted," House accused, but he was still smiling.

"That too," Wilson agreed. "I'm asking now." House raised his eyebrows at that, and Wilson added, "I bought you a house, what more do you want?"

House didn't even have to pause to consider the question. "I want the master bedroom."

Wilson blinked. "Okay."

Narrowing his eyes, House added, "With you still in it."

"Of course," Wilson agreed, moving House's legs to the floor so that he was free to stand and pull House up after him.

Holding House tighter to him than was strictly necessary, Wilson walked them toward the hallway. "House," Wilson said softly, turning his head so that his nose grazed the stubble on House's cheek. "You were always enough too. Sorry it took me so long to notice."


End file.
